"Dreaming of Peace" is a sermon
that is among my most passionate and, I think, most articulate cases
for
nonviolence at the heart of the Gospel. It was inspired by a nightmare
about executions during the night before preaching it. Waking up so
revulsed
by the dream of executions, it occurred to me that that's what was
behind
Thomas' doubts. Doubting a resurrection itself would be strange, since
Thomas had recently seen Jesus raise Lazarus. From the sermon:

No, Thomas was struggling with the idea that God would
choose
to raise someone who was
executed in shame. Thomas doesn't just
demand to see Jesus in order to believe. He demands to see the marks of
his execution! He wants to see the nail prints in his hands and the
place
where the sword pierced his side. He was still shuddering at the horror
of the one whom they thought to be the Messiah having been executed.
Jesus
was supposed to save his people from centuries of being oppressed.
Jesus
was supposed to help them turn around the oppressive violence of the
Romans.
How could one who seemed so powerless against that violence actually be
the one who is saving us from it? Impossible! God raise him in power as
the Messiah? He'll believe that when he sees the nail prints and puts
his
hand in Jesus' side.

And here's the main point:

The cross as a repulsive execution brings us face
to
face with the heart of the matter: that our cure for violence is sacred
violence, a violence we say is O.K. for the sake of keeping order, and
that God's cure for violence is completely different than ours. God
submits
to our sacred violence in the cross and reveals it as meaningless and
powerless
compared to God's power of life. The resurrection of the one whom we
executed
puts us face to face with absolutely the most difficult thing for us to
believe -- namely, that the only way to ultimately cure violence is to
completely refrain from doing it, even if it means submitting to it,
revealing
its meaninglessness compared to the Creator's power of life. We need to
keep believing in the violence we use to try to stop others from using
violence on us. We refuse to believe that there could be a way of
stopping
violence that doesn't involve violence -- or "force," since we
generally
want to call what we do something else other than "violence." Thomas
wants
to know, we want to know, how someone who seemed so powerless against
the
violence could actually be the one saving us from it. If we want to
truly
be challenged by something impossible for us to believe, try believing
that there is ultimately a nonviolent way to stop violence. Believing
that
God could raise someone from the dead is nothing compared to that.

When we talk about "faith in God," it seems to be no problem for
Christians
to talk in terms of a God who backs our most deeply held values of
sanctioning
violence against the people we deem as bad, evil. But such talk
increasingly
causes me to have doubts about what we really mean by "faith in God" if
we claim a Messiah who suffered violence but never dished it out. Is
the
cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ the full and true revelation of
God, or not? Is there some additional event needed to save us -- like a
second coming of Christ that's completely different -- namely, full of
sacred violence -- than the first coming? Isn't that why apocalypses
like
the Left Behind series are so popular among Christians? Like
Thomas
on Easter evening, we just can't quite come to believe that an executed
Messiah is what saves us.

Acts 2:14a, 22-32

Reflections and Questions

1. The high priest says, "you are determined to bring this man's
blood
on us." In this age that we are now hyper-sensitive to anti-Semitism,
we
might in fact read anti-Semitism into this part of Peter's response:
"The
God of our ancestors raised up Jesus, whom you had killed by hanging
him
on a tree." It sounds blaming to us.

Yet does this ignore what comes next in Peter's response? He goes on
to say, "God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Savior that he
might give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins." In other
words,
the bottom line of pointing to the harsh reality of the cross is not
a blaming or accusing in order to turn around and scapegoat Jesus'
persecutors.
Rather, the bottom line is to give the opportunity for repentance and
the
forgiveness of sins. What stands in the way of such forgiveness and
repentance
is the refusal to see our own implication in the cross of Christ. Peter
and the apostles don't soft-peddle responsibility for the cross, but
the
point is to be witnesses to God's forgiveness.

1 Peter 1:3-9

Resources

1. Robert Hamerton-Kelly, sermon
from April 7, 2002 (Woodside Village Church).

John 20:19-31

Resources

1. Gil Bailie, "The Gospel of John" audio
tape series, tape #12. Here are some of my notes on this portion
(see
Easter
A for the full notes on John 20-21):

There is an emphasis in both this story and the "doubting
Thomas"
story to follow on Jesus showing them his hands and his side. At the
time
of this Gospel we know of a drift toward gnosticism, or docetism, the
tendency
to say that Jesus just seemed to be human. This emphasis on the
hands and side is a way of saying that the crucifixion was a real death
of a real human being. Jesus wasn't just shadow-playing. The disbelief
in the Thomas story is more of a disbelief in the crucifixion than the
resurrection, from this standpoint of answering gnosticism. It is the
scandal
of the crucifixion which makes the resurrection difficult for gnostics
to believe.

In these verses, the emphasis is on "Peace be with you. As the
Father
sends me..." This sums up the resurrection, which is the experience of
suddenly being impelled to do what he did. My life is no longer my own.
He lives in me. The experience of the resurrection is twofold. First
part:
The Christic impulse is in me. I feel compelled to do what he did.

The second part: "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins
of
any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are
retained."
The Holy Spirit is synonymous with the Paraclete. The Paraclete is the
defender of victims. How do we defend victims? Urban II had a way of
defending
victims: go and slaughter the victimizers [a reference back to the
discussion
of the Crusades earlier in this lecture]. We know where that leads. How
does the Paraclete defend victims? Forgiveness, even forgiveness of the
victimizers. From our sacrificial point of view, we read this as a
stern
God who says, 'You get to go out there and decide who's going to go to
hell and who's not.' Rather, the part about retaining sins is an urging
to the disciples to get out there and get busy forgiving people's sins,
because if they don't do it, it won't get done. Unless people
experience
forgiveness from them, they won't be forgiven. If they don't experience
forgiveness at the hands of the Jesus' disciples, then they will go on
generating the kinds of rituals by which they will feel expiated. It's
not some pious thing that says, 'Ah, you're O.K.' It's tremendously
dynamic
- and hard to pull off. People today will pay hundreds of dollars an
hour
trying to be forgiven.

Rowan Williams wrote: "There is no hope of understanding the
Resurrection
outside the process of renewing humanity in forgiveness. We are all
agreed
that the empty tomb proves nothing. We need to add that no amount of
apparitions,
however well authenticated, would mean anything either, apart from the
testimony of forgiven lives communicating forgiveness." The
resurrection
was an experience of forgiveness. The disciples had all abandoned
Jesus,
becoming complicit with his murderers. The fact that the resurrection
was
happening to them was an experience of forgiveness for them.

Followed by quotes from Schillebeeckx, H.J. Richards, Bonhoeffer,
Sullivan,
and Johann Baptiste Metz.

Reflections and Questions

1. The theme of much of James Alison's work, as it locates
its
beginning point in the Resurrection experience of the apostles, is that
Jesus came to them as a presence of forgiveness. When Jesus appears in
these twelve verses and three times says, "Peace be with you," I think
we must understand something deeper than calming their fears and
anxieties.
John names their fear at the outset as fear of their leaders and what
they
might presumably do to them. Then, with Jesus' sudden appearance, there
is apparently some further hesitation and fear that is somewhat calmed
by Jesus showing them his marks of identity as their Crucified Lord. At
that point, they "rejoice," but then why does Jesus insist on saying
again,
"Peace be with you"? Isn't it because what they really need the most at
that moment is forgiveness? Isn't the kind of peace they need the one
set
in motion by forgiveness?

The ensuing Pentecostal commissioning would seem to support this. As
the Father has sent Jesus with the presence of forgiveness, so now
Jesus
sends them, with the power of the Holy Spirit: "If you forgive the sins
of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are
retained."

2. What is retaining sins about? Is this an ironic portion of the
commissioning
that Jesus throws in to make clear their mission is to not be as the
unforgiving
servant was in the parable of Matthew 18? How could they retain the
sins
of any after experiencing themselves this utterly gracious presence of
Jesus among them as forgiveness? Had they done anything to deserve
Jesus'
forgiving presence with them at that moment? Had Jesus himself shown
any
hint of retaining their sin?

I made ample use of this John 20 passage in my Epiphany
5C
sermon (entitled "A Bad Hire?") on the first calling of the
disciples
in Luke 5:1-11. The theme I tried to bring out was that Jesus needed to
call his disciples a second time. The first call didn't stick. They all
abandoned him at his time of need. So I used these verses from John 20
as an example of calling the disciples a second time. And I made a big
deal out of the fact of Jesus calling them again after they had utterly
failed. Why would he do that? Is this the case of a bad hire? Or is
their
failure, along with Jesus' forgiveness of it, precisely their main
qualification
for being hired as apostles? Here's the last several paragraphs of that
sermon:

Here's that second calling of the disciples, and it's
absolutely
amazing! His disciples who had abandoned him and denied him are sitting
in a locked room, grief-stricken, afraid, and feeling "guilty as sin,"
and the Risen Jesus pops in to visit them. You and I would have, at the
very least, sacked the whole lot of them. We would have fired them --
'You
good-for-nothing, fair-weather friends, you failed me! I never want to
see you again! Now that I'm risen I'm going to get myself some new
disciples,
some real disciples, someone who will follow me through thick and
thin.'
That's what you and I would have said, right? But not Jesus! No, it's
incredible!
Not only does he not sack the sorry lot of them; not only does he not
return
for vengeance; not only does he come instead with peace; but he hires
them
to go out into the world extending the word of forgiveness to others!!
And, some time later, when Jesus goes out to hire the person he wants
to
take this message of forgiveness to the ends of the earth, he hires
Saul,
one who is guilty of killing some of Jesus' first messengers. Is Jesus
crazy?

No, of course not. He's the Son of God, and so he definitely does
things
differently from what we would do. To spread a message of forgiveness,
he hires not those who appear blameless or somehow most worthy. He
hires
those who truly know that they themselves have been forgiven.

You and I are called as disciples of Jesus. Why? Because we are
somehow
better than others? No, the job description for being a disciple of
Jesus
begins with knowing how wrong you are [Alison's The Joy of Being
Wrong],
with knowing how much you are forgiven. It begins by recognizing our
own
guilt and then having the wonderful experience of being forgiven for
it.
Life can begin anew! There is a joy in being forgiven, and that joy is
knowing the life-giving power of being forgiven.

Our Risen Lord comes to us today once again in the Holy Sacrament
of
Communion. He comes to say to us, "Peace be with you." Not only that,
he
comes to call us. He comes to hire us to help spread the news. He comes
to ask us to extend this word of healing, life-giving forgiveness to
others:
"If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them." Oh, yes,
there's
also this second part about, "if you retain the sins of any, they are
retained."
But after you yourself have had your sins forgiven, could you really
retain
the sins of another? You see? Jesus has hired the right people, after
all.
Amen

3. Another twist on the releasing and binding of sins in John 20:23 is
to look at it through the Akedah, which means "binding," the
story
of Genesis 22 in which Abraham binds Isaac for sacrifice and then is
released
from such a horrific command. Jesus continues the Good News of a God
who
releases us from the sin of such idolatrous sacrifice -- a sin to which
we might nevertheless continue to bind ourselves if we resist the Good
News. See my reflections on John 20:23 in light of the Akedah
at
Proper
8A.

4. Walter Wangerin, Jr.'s version of this story in The
Book
of God lends itself well to a sermon about peace. What kind
of peace do we usually think of when we read that Jesus suddenly came
into
their midst saying, "Peace be with you"? Peace from the inner turmoil
of
grief and guilt? Wangerin's story sets the stage with Peter and James
arguing,
ready to come to physical blows, blaming each other. As James is ready
to lunge at Peter, Jesus suddenly is between them speaking his word of
peace. A much more dramatic version of "peace," don't you think? Link
to
a sermon making use of Wangerin's telling of this story
entitled
"Called as Peacemakers."

5. A comment from Britt Johnston in 1998:

A friend of mine who is a member of the National Coalition
to Abolish the Death Penalty was demonstrating against an execution in
Alabama last year. He was holding a sign that said, 'Jesus was
executed.'
But a church-goer who was demonstrating in favor of the
execution
took issue with him, saying that Jesus' death wasn't really an
execution
because it was the will of God fore-ordained from before creation for
our
salvation, etc. This is the equivalent of Thomas' words, "unless I
touch....and...see,
I will not believe." This is what Paul meant by the cross being a
scandal.
Once again, we want to cover over the murder with a comfortable myth.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the content of our believing as
Christians.
What
are we supposed to believe in? That Jesus was God's Son? That he rose
from
the dead? Is that what Thomas is having a hard time believing? Is it
hard
to believe that someone can be raised from the dead? In John's story,
the
raising of Lazarus was still fresh for Thomas. Can he not believe that
God could raise Jesus from the dead? I'm not so sure that's what
Thomas'
problem was. Perhaps it wasn't simply that God could raise Jesus from
the
dead. Perhaps he had trouble believing that God would raise a crucified
Jesus from the dead. Why would God raise someone executed in utter
shame?
How could someone so shamed be the Messiah worthy of resurrection?

The above comment by the church-goer favoring capital punishment
puts
these questions in perspective, I think. What are we supposed to
believe?
To me, this church-goer is off the mark. We are invited to believe
precisely
that God raised this one whom we executed. The execution brings
us face to face with the heart of the matter: that our cure for
violence
is sacred violence, and that God's cure for violence is completely
different.
God submits to our sacred violence in the cross and reveals it as
meaningless
and powerless compared to God's power of life. The only way to
ultimately
stop violence is to completely refrain from doing it, even if it means
submitting to it, revealing its meaninglessness.

Isn't this what is truly difficult for us to believe? Consider our
response
to the horrific terrorism of September 11. Can we conceive of any other
response than our own form of sanctioned violence? That God might be
calling
us in Jesus Christ to another way to respond -- isn't that the toughest
thing for us to believe in? Was Thomas having trouble believing that
God's
Messiah would be crucified? Doesn't that confront him, and us, with a
completely
unheard-of plan of salvation from our constant violence? Doesn't he
insist
on seeing the nail prints and the mark of the spear because he is
having
trouble believing in a crucified one? How could one who seemed so
powerless
against the violence actually be the one who is saving us from it? If
we
want to truly be challenged by something in which to believe, try
believing
that there is ultimately a nonviolent way to stop violence. Can we
believe
there's another kind of response to September 11 than to wield our full
military might at terrorism? And that Jesus came to call us to that
other
way? Don't more folks have greater difficulty believing in the latter
than
in Jesus being raised from the dead?

6. My 2002 sermon, "Dreaming
of Peace," is very much related to these reflections (especially
#5)
but was spurred on from a most unexpected source: I had a dream, on the
Saturday night before preaching, of experiencing an execution. I awoke
still shuddering from the revulsiveness of it and immediately began to
connect it to Thomas' doubt in this Gospel Lesson. I have never before
had an experience of feeling like a dream was given to me by God, and
it
resulted in an unusually powerful preaching experience for me.

7. As we watch the Israeli response to the "Passover Massacre" in
2002,
does our response to September 11 look any different to us? (Does it
seem
to you -- as it does to me -- that we've seen more pictures of the
Israeli
military in action in this one week than we've seen of our own military
in Afghanistan for several months?) Do we have any right to criticize
the
Israeli response without re-considering our own response?